


Sisyphus Complex (When does this mountain end?)

by Bythoseburningembers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), Brotherly Love, Cas needs a damn vacation, Dean Winchester is Sam Winchester's Parent, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Jack Needs a Hug, Michael Possessing Dean Winchester, Michael is a Little Shit, No one messes with Sam's big brother, One Shot, Protective Sam Winchester, Sam and Dean are children sometimes, Set after 14x11, Torture, slight Cas/Dean but not the highlight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:40:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28706061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bythoseburningembers/pseuds/Bythoseburningembers
Summary: It wasn’t a migraine at first.  Not really. It began as a tickle, then on the seventh night, ironically… It became something else.OrMichael is trying his damn hardest to take control of his one true vessel. Dean, he knows, will eventually break. Sam and the others just need to find a solution before that happens.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Castiel & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Jack Kline & Sam Winchester, Mary Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 68





	Sisyphus Complex (When does this mountain end?)

It wasn’t a migraine at first.

Not really.

It began as a tickle, the kind that came from dirt lodged in your ear canal. Dean barely gave it a second’s pause. He spent so much time rooting around graveyards and trailing through all variety of muck that he was hardly a stranger to dirt showing up in weird places.

Matter of fact, at the end of the day, Dean just counted himself lucky he hadn’t found any in his underwear again. The last time that had happened, he’d been in such discomfort from the infection that he’d been benched for three weeks. Sam had sworn that if he ever had to nurse Dean through another sickness down _there,_ he was moving out for good.

As the days progressed, however, the itch in his ear turned to a mild ache at the very back of his head, just above where his neck met his skull. Dean and headaches? They were like soul mates. He took an aspirin, downed more water than usual and continued his self-imposed exile.

Not that he would ever call it that. Out aloud. He wasn’t being shy or whatever. He’d just never had experience living with more than one or two people, especially right after his face had been the literal face of the jackass that had destroyed the lives of said people.

 _Anyway,_ there were a lot of... Random people in his house after all. Not only were the other-worlder's loitering around, but other hunters had also been drawn to his brother’s leadership. Hunting was a confusing and lonely life. It only made sense that others would crave the security Sam provided.

Dean got it. Really. Yet he didn’t quite feel as if he fit anywhere in the bustle. He wasn’t used to sharing space with more than one or two people; and having his brother and an angel around was very different from the hunters bootcamp Sam was running.

Then… Michael had taken his body for a joy ride again. It was so _sudden_ , that tickly itch had become an explosion that briefly knocked him unconscious. When Sam and Cas saved him, he expected to feel the sensation again because _of course_ Michael would find little ways of messing with him. It was supposed to break his morale. Make him think he was crazy.

 _Well guess what?_ He’d taunted the Arch Angel. _I’ve been tortured and I’ve been torturer. I know how this dance goes._

So, Dean did everything he could to distract himself from the Angel in his head. He stayed busy. He even started taking part in Sam’s little campsite for hunters, teaching hand-to-hand combat and basic knowledge for monsters. It was easy the first few days. Laughably so. The pain wasn’t physical. It wasn’t as if Michael was in his _brain,_ just his mind. He didn’t know why they were different, but they were.

Could Dean hear him throwing his little pissy party? Sure. It was like listening to a train from far down a tunnel. But Michael’s enraged yelling was nothing he couldn’t drown out with some earphones and a little ACDC.

Was there a pressure somewhere at the top of his head, the imagined door he had shut on the Arch Angel? Absolutely. It was as if there were air bubbles squeezing between his synapses. But that, too, wasn’t anything he couldn’t shove aside by focusing on Netflix or a hunt.

He started to feel strong again. As if _maybe_ he could do this long term.

On the seventh night, ironically… It became something else.

He thought he heard his dad calling him. Not the soft, tender voice his father sometimes used in his dreams, the voice of John Winchester before his death. No, it was the gravelly, furious yelling that made Dean surge upright in bed, heart pounding.

Panic sizzled up his spine and jolted him into standing. Or, trying to. He fumbled from the warmth of sleep and landed hard on the floor, legs snagged by his blankets as he struggled to get his bearings, to find Sam, to remember if he’d lost their food money (again) or forgotten to clean the guns.

His lips sputtered to form a _yes sir_ or _what’s wrong dad_ or _where’s Sam_ , but the shouting steadily increased until his vision blurred at the edges, and Dean pressed his forehead to the ground and clapped hands over his ears.

 _Stop_ , he wanted to say. _Stop, I’m here,_ but the loudness stole his breath and made him shiver uncontrollably. Then there was pain. A deep, stabbing pain that began behind his eyelids and spread to his temples.

_YOU DID THIS TO ME!_

Michael screamed in his dad’s voice, Sam, Cas, his mom, Charlie, Benny and Bobby. Their screams blended together into the tortured screams of the Damned and Dean wished that he could say those shrieks were just hallucinations, but they weren’t. They were _memories._

Shadows writhed above him, leaned close to card bloodied hands through his hair. Dean tried to raise his hands to defend himself, but more cold fingers scraped against the bare skin of his sides and stomach and legs. It felt as if they were coming from inside him.

_It’s not real. It’s not real. None of this is real…_

_YOU DID THIS TO ME!_

It felt real. It felt like being attacked from all angles. Michael pounded against the door and Dean collapsed onto his side. He didn’t have the breath to cry out or scream or even think about whether any of this was actually happening. 

It took all his strength to keep Michael behind that fragile wooden door with rusty hinges. He lay huddled on the floor of his room and threw his entire being, all his sacrifices and pain and rage and love against that door.

Then, in the silence off his room, he covered his ears and he held the line.

* * *

Sam didn’t get much sleep these days.

Still, as he’d told his mom and Cas and Maggie and Dean and _everyone,_ basically, he was sleeping much more now than he had when Michael kidnapped his older brother and used his body as his own personal chauffeur. It wasn’t as if Sam didn’t know the importance of a good night’s rest. He’d spent too many sleepless nights to take the good ones for granted.

Nevertheless, he was still John Winchester’s son, even if once he’d abhorred the reality of it. That meant that once he dug his heels into something, it was near impossible to tear him away. Some called him obsessed. Some called him determined. He tried not to think about it too hard.

His unusual perseverance had saved someone’s skin more times than he had patience to remember. And right now, he needed it to find a way to expel the asshole from his brother’s head.

As had been pointed out by every manner of monster and human out there, Dean was his weak spot. Sam would forgo sleep, food and shelter if it helped his brother. It was the way they’d been hardwired since childhood, when all they had was each other. A survival mechanism neither had found a way or motivation to uproot.

So _of course_ he spent all his spare time ransacking the Men of Letters Archives. O _f course_ he lived off coffee and smoothies for days. He had a lot on his plate, and at some point, his loved ones had just stopped nagging him and accepted it.

Except for Dean, apparently. Big shocker.

 _Honestly,_ Sam reflected, as he eyed the blank screen of his alarm. Usually, he set it to wake him at six thirty every morning. _I don’t even know why I’m surprised._

Maybe surprise wasn’t the best word anyway. Irritated? Yes. He was irritated, but not surprised. This wasn’t the first time Dean had unplugged his alarm in hopes that Sam would get some more sleep. Matter of fact, Sam had pulled the same stunt on Dean plenty of times.

He could almost hear his big brother now. _Well, it worked didn’t it?_ _You needed sleep man, you looked like [insert pop culture insult here]._ Sam smirked to himself and dug under his pillow for his phone.

He squinted blearily at the screen. First of all, in the dark of his room, the light was like staring into the sun. Secondly, his phone screen was full of notifications, the blue blocks stacked atop each other as if they would pop out any moment now.

Dean, apparently, had also _silenced_ his phone so he wouldn’t get all the text alerts either. A thrill of alarm went through Sam. Someone could have been hurt on a hunt; or captured or not checked in or…. And Dean had rerouted all messages to his and Maggie’s phones. Figured.

Anyways. It was 10:23am.

Impressive. He’d slept a full _eight hours_ that night. Sam’s jaw popped as he yawned, long and luxuriously. He briefly considered using Dean’s trickery as an excuse to go back to sleep. The extra rest felt _good_ , and it wasn’t as if Maggie couldn’t handle things while he was indisposed. Dean had probably roped her into the whole conspiracy. 

After a moment, Sam shook his head and pushed himself up with a low groan. Maggie could easily handle the Hunter side of things, but Sam didn’t trust anyone else to conduct his level of thorough research. If they had learned anything this past week, it was that Michael wasn’t going to leave Dean’s head of his own volition. 

Sam swung his legs over his bed and dressed, contemplating the ways he could get Dean back for this little stunt. Maybe he could slip some spinach onto the next greasy burger; or make him a grilled cheese without the fat filled dairy. Hell, maybe he could replace all the beer with vitamin water.

 _No,_ he thought with a smile and tiny shudder. _Dean would kill me with his bare hands._

It was still a nice thought, especially when he imagined Dean’s face when he took a sip from the bottle and discovered his precious alcohol was now cucumber vitamin water. Sam nursed the image on his way to the kitchen, chuckling.

As usual, by this time, the Bunker was crawling with activity. Hunters coordinating and researching and tracking. It was like a well-oiled machine, and now that he had some rest, he could appreciate the gentle hum of life. He nodded his greeting to the other late risers milling around the coffee machine.

As he was waiting his turn, a sudden presence whirled around his back. “Morning Sam!” Maggie called, her arms full of lore books on… Women in White? Oh great. Sam smiled.

“Morning Maggie. Hey, have you seen Dean around?” He asked. Maggie paused briefly, eyes searching the ceiling as she thought.

“Um… Nope. No one has seen him all morning. I think he’s sleeping in too.”

“Oh,” Sam arched a brow. Dean wasn’t quite the early riser that Sam was, but their dad had run a strict schedule for them as kids. Dean almost always woke at 7am sharp, if not earlier. The only exceptions were injuries or extreme exhaustion. “Ok. Thanks,” Maggie studied him for a long moment.

“Did _you_ get some rest?" She inquired.

“A full eight hours,” he allowed a shy smile to peek through. “Thanks.”

Her teeth gleamed white as she grinned. “You’re welcome. See ya!” Then she was scampering away with her books, cheerful. Sam wished he could be that enthusiastic about life, but every time he tried, he would get an ache in his spine reminding him that he had died one too many times for all that.

“Can’t even believe this,” a hunter named Elijah grumbled, as he handed Sam a Styrofoam cup of black coffee. “Don’t monsters sleep? It’s too early for this shit.” Sam snorted, but Elijah’s words rippled through him.

It wasn’t _that_ early. In fact, by Winchester standards, it was late in the day. Dean should be up by now. Unless he’d been injured fighting Nick or building his death box to the sea.

Abandoning the coffee machine, Sam headed to his brother’s room. Others might have called him paranoid, but Dean had an unfortunate track record of not paying attention to his own wounds. He'd even forget about them completely if he had “more important” things on his mind.

When Sam stopped in front of Dean’s door, it was still firmly closed. He scowled and rapped his knuckles against the thick wood. “Dean? Hey Dean, I’m making some breakfast, you want any?” Silence. _Dean, I swear if you’ve passed out from blood loss or some shit, I’m going to throttle you myself,_ he swore.

He knocked again. “Bro, are you still _asleep?_ ” He waited with bated breath for a groan or mumbled insult or even a _go away Sam_. There was nothing.

Sam shoved the door open so hard he nearly fell inside. “Dean?” He gasped. The room was still dark. He could faintly make out the guns above Dean’s bed and the lamp on his bedside table. And there, coming from the end of his bed was a rectangular shine. His phone, dinging incessantly from all the messages he’d wired to his number.

And on the floor a few feet away, Dean was curled into a tight ball. Sam’s heart skipped a beat. “Dean!?”

He skidded to his knees beside the prone form. His brother flinched and made a low, rasping noise. “Dean, hey!” Dean was clad only in a thin T-shirt and some sleep pants. Evidently, he’d stumbled right out of bed. The blankets from his bed were still wrapped around his legs and waist.

Sam hovered over him, terrified that any touch would hurt Dean further. And his brother _was_ in pain. It was written into every pore of his shivering frame. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and vomit. Dean’s skin was clammy and warm to the touch, as if he had a fever. His breaths came out in short bursts of air.

“What’s wrong? Where are you hurt?” Sam demanded. He had other questions, such as _was it Nick_ and _why didn’t you call me_ , but now that he was closer, he could see Dean’s fingers clenching in his short hair. Sam desperately reached for the blanket to untangle it, but Dean groaned, low and desperate.

“Michael… Hurts…” Sam’s skin prickled with cold. Damn it. He’d never imagined that Michael could cause this much physical pain while trapped in a vessel. Suddenly, Dean gasped. His body gave a jolt, as if electrocuted. “B-bucket. Bucket!”

Sam threw himself at the small trash can by Dean’s bed and just barely got it close enough for Dean to vomit a thin stream of stomach acid. “We have to get you to the hospital,” Sam murmured. Even before he’d finished saying it, he knew that was no solution. What would he even tell them? _Hi, this is my brother and he’s fighting off a furious Arch Angel in his mind. What drugs would you recommend?_

“No,” Dean whispered into the can. “No. Get Cas.”

Sam blinked, stupefied. _Cas? Could he even heal something like this?_

“Dean, I don’t think….”

For the first time since he’d arrived, Dean looked up. His eyes were wide and feverish, with an intense desperation that sucked the air from Sam’s lungs. “Please.”

Sam stood and sprinted from the room without hesitation. “Cas! Cas!” He yelled. A woman stopped him in the hallway before his own room, gave him an odd look. What was her name? Alex? Rachel? He couldn’t seem to place faces to names suddenly. “He just left Sam. He’s going with Jack to that Vampire nest in Louisiana.”

“Mother fucker,” Sam spat. The woman staring gave a start. He rarely cursed in front of the new hunters. “Do me a favor and get some ice. Bring it to Dean’s room asap,” she was from a war-torn world. She recognized the franticness in his tone, gave a decisive nod and left to do as he said. Sam dug his phone from his pocket and pressed speed dial. It rung for an eternity. “Cas, c’mon. Damnit, Cas _pick up…_ ”

“Hello?”

Sam nearly doubled over from relief. “Cas! Cas it’s me. I need you back at the bunker _now_.” He started back to Dean’s room.

“What?” Cas’s tone, to a stranger, was monotone all of the time. But they’d been friends too long for Sam to miss the beat of alarm in his voice. “Sam, what is it?”

“It’s Dean,” he met Maggie in the hall outside Dean’s room, holding a bag of ice and a warm cloth. Her brows were furrowed with worry. “Something is happening. I think Michael is hurting him. It’s really bad. He told me to get you.”

There were screeching tires in the background and a dull thud. “We’re on our way back now. ETA twenty minutes.”

“Good. Hurry,” the line cut out. Maggie held out the ice pack before he could thank her for it.

“What’s up with Dean?” Her brown eyes were wide with concern, but there was steel there too. A calm strength born from struggle. Sam exhaled slowly.

“I don’t know exactly. He’s in pain,” inside, there was a deep groan. It didn’t sound human. Sam blanched. Maggie’s left eye twitched. “Can...” he hesitated. “Can you clear the bunker? If Michael gets out...” He didn’t want to start a panic, but he had a responsibility to these people. They’d lost everything once.

Maggie gulped. But her hand was steady and warm when she reached out to squeeze his arm. “I’m on it.”

That was one burden off his shoulders. Sam huffed. “Thanks. I’ll... Do what I can here,” and he was guessing that wouldn’t be much. Still, Sam swiveled on a heel, headed inside and closed the door gently behind him. “Dean?”

There was a sniffle from the ground. Sam carefully knelt beside him. Slowly, prepared to snatch his hand away at any moment, he laid a hand to his brother’s forehead. It was searing to the touch. “Dean, can you hear me?”

No reply.

Sam bit his bottom lip. Snaked his hand around until he’d shimmied two fingers in between Dean’s. “If you can hear me, squeeze my fingers.” He waited. Five seconds passed, then ten. His heart hammered in his ears. There was the faintest pressure. Sam’s shoulders unwound slightly. “Ok. Ok, good. Listen, Cas is on the way. I brought some ice. Will it help? Squeeze once for yes, two for no.”

Two quick squeezes.

Sam chucked the ice aside, cursing. “Is it Michael? He’s doing something to you?”

One squeeze. “Is he...” Sam gulped. “Is he coming?”

“N-no,” this time it was a faint whisper. “Never.”

Sam’s heart swelled at the promise. Only his brother. “Alright. I’m going to try and get you off this floor, ok?” But Dean gave a breathless, desperate exclamation that sounded vaguely like _don’t._ “Dean...”

“C-can’t...” Dean grit out. “Have ta... Focus,” he curled tighter round himself. Where he had Sam’s fingers spasmed into a grip so tight it was sure to leave marks. Dean sobbed, roughly. “Son of a... Sammy, it _hurts.”_

The admission stole Sam’s breath. If Dean was so far gone as to shed tears, then the agony had to be immense. _Stop it,_ Sam begged Chuck, or Michael or whoever was just _watching_ this. _Please stop._

“I’m here Dean. What do you need? I’ll do it. Anything.”

“Damn it!” Dean’s hand shot out and snatched a fistful of Sam’s shirt. “Damn it, damn it, damn it! No! You hear me, you bastard!? I said _no_ , _no, no_!”

Sam gripped Dean’s hand and arm. “Don’t listen to him, Dean. I’m here. You can do this. Just hold on.” Dean just gritted his teeth and flopped onto his side again, lifeless. Ignoring the vomit and sweat he was sliding in, Sam slowly inched himself forward, so he could curl over Dean and massage the corded muscles of his neck and back.

Helplessness and terror surged through him. He whispered words of encouragement and support while his mind raced. How long had Dean been like this? He was still in pajamas, so it couldn’t have been recent. How long could he keep it up? What if Michael did permanent damage? _Could_ he do permanent damage?

Blood was starting to dribble from his nose, solidifying Sam’s terror, when the door opened. “Sam?” Castiel and Jack rushed into the room. Sam blinked away tears. Sometime in the past few minutes, Dean’s visible fight had begun tearing down his own walls of strength. “What is going on here?”

“Is Dean ok?” Jack added.

Sam didn’t have an answer to either of those questions because at that moment, Dean gave a harsh, sputtering cough. Blood flecked his lips. _Did he bite his tongue?_ Sam wondered. _Or is it something else?_

Castiel dropped to his knees beside Sam and laid a hand on Dean’s shoulder. His eyes shone the ethereal blue of his grace. There was a burst of air, warm and stable like it had come out of a hair dryer, then a bang of light. Cas was flung across the room and landed against the wall with a harsh clatter of guns and ammo. Dean’s back arched as he cried out.

Jack hurried over to Cas, digging him from under the guns and random car magazines that had fallen from Dean’s shelves. “What was that?”

“Michael took offense to me trying to heal Dean,” Cas explained breathlessly.

“Well, what are we going to do? It’s killing him!” Sam shouted.

“Michael won’t kill him. Not unless Dean says yes. Then his vessel would be Michael’s to own,” Cas accepted Jack’s hand up, eyes never leaving Dean’s face. “But Dean will never say yes.”

“Exactly.”

“You said Dean asked for _me_ specifically?” Sam nodded. “How have you been communicating with him?”

Sam didn’t know how that would help, but he shook off the instinctive confusion. “Um. I ask him yes or no questions,” he clutched Dean’s hand again. “Two squeezes means no. One is yes.”

“Good,” Cas leaned forward, presumably to speak to the downed hunter, but before he could Dean _threw_ himself upright. He had that look in his eyes. The same look the werewolves and vampires and witches had when they realized they’d been hunted.

“C-Cas,” he choked out. Sam and Jack helped hold him up as he wound a fistful of Cas’s coat into his hand and yanked the Angel closer so he could hiss into his ear. Cas listened, frowning.

“Dean, what...?” Suddenly Cas recoiled, eyes wide. “No. No, I can’t,” he gasped. Dean tugged him back. Sam’s gut clenched as Cas just shook his head, paling. “Are you _sure?_ There has to be something else...” More frantic whispering. Cas closed his eyes. “Alright. Fine.”

Jack and Sam’s eyes followed Cas as he leaned back on his haunches. The Angel cocked his head at Dean, the way he did when something was on the verge of disturbing him. “What did he say?” Jack demanded.

“Sam. You should go clean up,” Cas told them, calmly. “Jack. Go with Sam and ensure everyone is moved a safe distance from the Bunker.”

“What? Cas, I’m not _leaving_!” Sam cried, aghast. He pressed Dean’s hand to his chest protectively. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Below them, Dean moaned pitifully. Cas patted his shoulder absently. “There _is_ a way to weaken Michael.”

“How?” Jack asked.

“The pain he’s inflicting on Dean is metaphysical. His body thinks it’s going through the pain, and is reacting accordingly, but Michael isn’t actually doing anything but making noise.”

_Must be a hell ton of noise._

Dean shifted, like a fish in its dying throes. Sam tightened his grip and inwardly cursed Michael to a thousand burning Hells. “Cas. Cut the crap. What are you going to do to my brother?”

“Weaken the vessel and you’ll weaken Michael. Then he won’t have the strength to fight this hard.”

“What do you mean _weaken_ the vessel?”

“I’m going to do to Michael what he’s doing to Dean,” Castiel replied, sharp and dark as a bat screech. Sam blinked once, twice, his mind slow to catch Cas’s cryptic meaning. Cas avoided his gaze. “Sam...”

“You mean you’re going to what, _torture_ Dean to weaken Michael?”

Cas set his jaw. “That is his request, yes.”

Sam dove over his brother, defending his body with his own skin and sinew. “Well, he’s an idiot and so are you! I am not just going to _sit_ here and...”

“That’s why you need to leave,” Cas interrupted, with far more poise than anyone should have at this moment. Sam stared at their friend. Had it finally happened? Had the Winchesters finally driven their last and most loyal ally insane?

Jack laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. Sam bristled. “Sam. If Cas and Dean think this will work, maybe we should...” Sam threw off Jack’s hand, snarling.

_“No.”_

“Sam, do you think I _want_ to do this?” Cas’s voice wavered. “I would never hurt you or Dean voluntarily. _Ever_. If there were another way to settle Michael without letting him free, I would do it. But Dean is liable to go insane or his body to break down if we wait much longer.” A demon blade flicked out from his sleeve. “I have to do this.”

Sam’s eyes stung with wetness. “I can find another way. The lore...”

“Sammy.” He looked down. Dean was watching him with squinted eyes, as if he were staring into the sun. A steady river of tears flowed from the corners of his eyes and down his face. His lips were maroon with the blood dripping from his bitten tongue.

Dean squeezed his hand, long and hard, once. “Please. I-I ca-can't... Do t-this for much... L-longer. Hurts, Sam.”

His stupid, _stupid_ idiotic brother. Sam’s mouth went dry with the seriousness in those blue eyes, the resignation. Dean wasn’t scared of pain. He never had been, but everyone had a breaking point. And Dean was reaching his right there. In front of his eyes. Sam exhaled a shuddering breath.

“You can heal him after?”

“Once Michael is neutralized. Of course.”

“I won’t leave you,” he addressed this to Dean. The older Winchester gave a tiny shake of the head.

“Go. Sam.”

“Damn it, Dean you don’t have to protect me from this! I’m not going anywhere!”

“Sam, stop,” he didn’t dare look over. If he did, he was afraid he might punch Cas in the face but none of this was Cas’s fault. “Your distress will only make things worse for Dean. It will only weaken his resolve. That’s why he asked for me,” Cas didn’t sound especially honored. He sounded rather like he wanted to vomit.

Jack tugged at his elbow. “C’mon Sam.”

Sam sighed in defeat. He longed to be able to give a sound argument for why he should stay. Wished he could say that he could take it or that Cas shouldn’t do this alone. But deep down, he knew who he was. He was persistent and thorough, but Cas was like Dean in that they were soldiers in their very cores. They would do the unthinkable to win the war, to finish battles.

They had the stomach for unfairness, for _single options_. Sam, was, as always, too weak.

It would tear him apart to watch one brother hurt another, in every imaginable way. “Just... Let me know when it’s done?” He asked, and if he sounded a little like he as begging, neither Jack nor Cas remarked on it. Sam looked down at Dean, swiped a thumb across the track of tears on his cheeks. “Hold on, Dean, you hear me?” He pressed Dean’s calloused, roughened hand to his forehead. “You _hold the Hell_ on.”

Dean didn't know where he was. It was apparent in the way his head lolled around. He squinted at his brother, then gave a jerky nod. “Yessir,” Dean slurred.

It took everything inside him for Sam to shove himself to his feet. “Jack. Go with Sam,” Cas ordered, and for once Jack didn’t argue or question. He nodded, took Sam’s arm and together they stumbled from the room. The door slammed shut behind them. The deadbolt clicked into place with a decisive thud.

Jack and Sam stood there, swaying with shock.

Then Dean _screamed._

Jack gave a full body flinch. A shudder ricocheted through Sam, nearly bringing him to his knees. “Ok then,” he heard himself say, as if from far away. “We have work to do.”

* * *

Sam didn’t know how long he spent in the library.

At some point, he’d told Jack to bring everyone back into the Bunker. He had no doubt that Dean would die before he allowed Michael to escape. The others were safe and would remain safe.

They weren’t the ones he was worried about.

As the hunters filed back in, some tried to talk to him, to demand answers, but Jack and Maggie steered them away. Perhaps they saw in his eyes that Sam would break the jaw of anyone who approached him right then.

His mom called. Jack must have told her what happened. She left a voice message, in which she asked about Dean, then Michael, and Bobby interrupted in the background telling them not to be idjits and to think logically about this. Mary had begged him to call her back.

Sam didn’t have the emotional stamina to explain the situation to her yet. Not until he knew his brother would be alright. In the meantime, he scoured the internet. He devoured every article about possession and Michael and psychological barriers. Dean may have been the master of putting up walls, but could he hold this one forever?

_“Because I can feel him in my head. That door is giving. I can feel it giving!”_

His mind flashed with the metal box that Dean had built. The death box.

_“You were gonna leave, and you weren’t even gonna tell me? **Me?** ”_

“Do you realize how messed up that is, how unfair?” he murmured again, to an imaginary idiot brother. Sam wouldn’t give up. He couldn’t even imagine his brother spending eternity in that damn... Cage. Sam had been down that road. He knew what it was to be locked in a cell with a pissed off Arch Angel and he was not letting Dean do it.

_“You were the last person I could be around because you’re the only one who could have talked me out of it!”_

Jack came, hours or days later, and sat beside him with a stack of books and files on Michael. They studied silently, together. And waited. It was almost as if time stopped, because a few blinks after Jack sat down, Cas appeared in the library’s doorway silently.

“Sam.” He looked up. Castiel, with his Angelic presence, always seemed a bit... _Not there._ Not preoccupied exactly, but incomplete. Now, however, his entire being shone in his eyes. And he was shattered.

Sam jumped to his feet. “Cas. How is he?”

Castiel collapsed into the chair next to Jack. He stared straight ahead, into nothing. “He’s sleeping. Michael is... Silent.”

Silence. Castiel had _silenced_ Michael.

“But... He’s ok?” Sam asked warily, not exactly sure he _wanted_ to know.

“Are you alright?” Jack asked at the same time.

Castiel’s mouth quirked at the edges into a bitter smile. “I have just beaten, then burned, stabbed and suffocated my best friend until he was near catatonic. There is no part of me that is _alright_.” Sam’s blood froze. He’d done _what_?

“You had no choice, Cas,” Jack hurried to assure him.

Cas waved a dismissive hand. “When he wakes, he’ll probably want to see you Sam,” he stood, and now Sam saw flecks of blood on his coat and pants.

“Where are you going?” Sam asked when he really wanted to ask _will you come back? Dean needs you. I need you. We need you._

“Lijiang, China,” Cas replied matter of fact. Sam knew better than to press further. Castiel was known to disappear. He was like Sam that way. When he was badly hurt or drained, he needed space to figure it out himself.

And Cas was _old,_ old enough to have a few secret places in the world where he could find some semblance of peace. He never revealed why or what had happened in such spaces.

“What if it happens again?” He was terrified that it might, and Cas wouldn’t be there and Sam would be the one too... His hands clenched on the table. Dean and he had fought before. Brutal, savage fights. Usually while possessed. But that was different. Dean was always a willing participant in those. He could fight back and most of the time, he did. He gave as good as he got.

But the way he’d been... It would literally be a _beat down._

Cas shook his head. “I doubt it will happen again. At least for some time. Dean and I made sure Michael knew the consequences,” with that, Castiel made his way out as silently as he had come. Jack glanced at Sam.

“Should we... Follow him?”

Sam shook his head. Far be it for him to deny Castiel his privacy and peace of mind. Especially after that. “No. Cas can take care of himself. Would you... Call mom back and fill her in?” He offered his phone. Mary had left no less than six voicemails. “I’m going to sit with Dean.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I can do that,” Jack accepted the phone as if he’d never seen it before. “Thanks.”

 _What are you thanking me for?_ Sam wondered. _I’ve been a coward this entire time._

But Jack was giving him those wide, puppy eyes full of admiration and hope and shit. _Shit shit shit._ Shit that Sam didn’t want nor deserve. He couldn’t look at the kid, so he slammed his laptop closed and stormed from the room.

* * *

Whenever Dean was hurt or worse, Sam’s mind went to their father.

_“You’re the one who said never come back, dad! You closed that door, not me!”_

Sam didn’t know why he chose to torture himself with John’s memory. There were plenty of other memories to torture himself with. _Maybe,_ he speculated, _it’s because it used to be just us._ Him, Dean and dad. Those had been simpler times, but when Sam remembered many of them, they were tinged with a darkness. A finality.

As if even then, they’d been fated for suffering.

His dark thoughts were interrupted by a soft cough. Sam jumped. He had cleaned up Dean’s room, reinstalled all the fallen objects and furnishings. He’d mopped the floor and lit some of the nicer incense so it no longer smelled like vomit. He’d cleaned Dean up and put him in soft sweats.

Now, Dean was starting to fidget under the clean blankets. His eyes slowly fluttered open. Sam’s breath hitched in his throat. “Hey,” he breathed once Dean’s pupils focused on him. “Hey, buddy. How you feelin?”

“Argh,” Sam frowned at the soft voice that came from his brother’s throat. “Like I just went ten rounds with a trash compactor.”

He looked it too. Despite Cas’s healing. There was still a pallor to Dean’s face, and a thin cut above his right eyebrow that hadn’t fully closed. His eyes were dark with exhaustion.

“You want some water?” Dean nodded.

Sam poured some of the lukewarm liquid into a cup and held it to Dean’s lips. “Here, drink...”

“I can hold it Sam,” Dean insisted, snatching the mug from his hands. Only a little sloshed over the rim and onto the blanket. Dean was too busy guzzling it down to notice. When he was finished, he collapsed into his pillows and sighed. “Where’s Cas?”

“China,” Sam answered, reclaiming the cup to set it aside.

Dean cringed. “Ooh. That bad?”

Sam wondered if Cas had told Dean more about his past adventures than he had Sam, if China was where Cas went when he was _really_ messed up or something. “He was... Yeah. That bad.”

Dean studied Sam’s face, as if searching for a lie. “You know it isn’t his fault, right? He only did it because I asked him too.”

Sam gave a start. “What? I know that Dean. Cas is the _last_ person I’m mad at.” _As a matter of fact, I’m grateful. Without him, you’d still be in pain._

“Are you angry at me?”

“What? No! Why would I be angry at you?! I’m angry at Michael.”

“Oh,” Dean sounded relieved and a little surprised.

“Is there a reason I _should_ be mad at you?” Sam asked suspiciously. “You didn’t _not_ call out to me to... protect me or some bullcrap like that, right?”

“Not this time, Sammy,” Dean replied sincerely. “I... Couldn’t do anything. It took all my will just to talk. I had to focus everything I had on keeping Michael behind that door.”

“And... was Cas right? Is he... Silent?”

“Uhm yeah. For now. Listen Sam, I know you don’t want to hear this but...”

 _No. Nope, not doing this. S_ am held up a hand. “You know what, Dean? If you know I don’t want to hear it, let’s just spare ourselves the argument alright? I’m not letting you throw yourself into some death box.”

“And what if Cas isn’t here next time?” Dean challenged, because he just had to be contrary. “What if he’s across the country? What if the pain is even worse? We can’t risk it man. You don’t know what it’s like...”

“No, _you_ don’t know what it’s like!” Sam hissed. “To be locked in a cage with the worst person imaginable! For all eternity. In _a box._ I do. I’ve _been there_. I mean... _Damn it_ Dean, do you have any idea how much it scares me to think of you like that? I’d never see you again. Not in life, not in death. I won’t do it. So shut up.”

Dean clapped his mouth shut. Sam turned away to swipe at his tears angrily.

“Do you know... What Alistair did to break me, when I was doing my stint?”

Sam’s head snapped around. Dean never spoke about his time in Hell. _Ever_. It was almost an unspoken rule between them. Their exclusive periods in Hell were off limits for conversation. Beyond the barest info, only Cas knew a portion of what had gone down back then.

Shame flooded him as he realized how his statement had been perceived. “Dean. That’s not what I...”

“You’d think it had to do with you,” Dean continued. His voice was tightly controlled, not allowing even a molecule of true emotion through. “Or dad or Bobby. But no. It wasn’t any of that. I think Alistair knew I’d... I’d prepared myself, you know? As much as I could anyway. Alistair was all about... Well, he called it compromise. But it was some shitty options, let me tell you. Like cut out my own kidneys or have him bash my face in with a jackhammer,” Sam reflexively swallowed the vomit trying to wiggle up his gullet.

He was suddenly _very_ sure he didn’t want to know what had broken his brother.

Dean studied his palms. “Then, one session, he offers me something new. It took me off guard, man. There were... There were kids down there. Children who’d been manipulated or tricked into selling their souls for a hug or some new video game. That kind of thing. So Alistair brings me one, right? A kid who was probably eight when they died. Souls don’t really have ages, but you can tell by the... Brightness....Who was grown and who...”

His brothers voice cracked. Sam reached out and squeezed his hand.

“Dean. Really. You don’t have too...”

“Shut up,” Dean spat. “Just... Listen. I’m not doing this for nothing,” Sam shut up. When Dean had died that time, Sam’s sleep had been pock marked with terrible scenarios. Dean burning alive or being chased by an entire army of monsters. Each time he’d woken with a scream caught in his throat. Dean had been mutilated in his dreams, carved and pulverized.

Still, Sam knew that his dreams probably only just _danced_ across the reality of what had happened.

“So. Alistair gave me an option. He said the kid was new. Hadn’t been touched by any of the demons. He said either he would torture them right there, in front of me. Or I could do it. Now, I knew what Alistair was capable of. I knew that if he... I thought I could... Help that kid someway. I was ten times more merciful than Alistair. So I did it. I tore the kid apart. I was kinder than... What I knew Alistair would have done. Of course he puts the kid right back together and the next session, I do it again. And again. And again. I always chose for it to be me.”

Dean’s chin wobbled. Sam wanted to look away. He could never bear Dean in distress. “And for that... Oh, Sammy, I deserve this coffin ride just for that but... Alistair, he used it to... teach me. The torture got more and more brutal until I just… It didn’t even sicken me anymore. It was like a chore. I mean, I’d get frustrated at the kid for screaming. Can you believe that?”

“Dean,” Sam searched for words. Anything to say. Slowly, he pulled himself up to sit on the side of the bed. “You were being conditioned.”

Dean didn’t seem to hear him. Maybe he’d forgotten Sam was there at all. His gaze burrowed into the door ahead. “One day, Alistair comes back. He didn’t have the kid with him. He told me there was no need. My work was done. The kid had been demonized. They were an evil, bloodthirsty bastard now and I had been the one to do it.”

 _No,_ Sam wanted to cry. _It wasn’t your fault._

A tear streaked down Dean’s face. A lump grew in Sam’s throat, so large he could hardly breathe. “I b-broke that kids... _Spirit_ across my knee. Alistair told me I could do it again. He said I was good at it. He offered me a compromise. I could suffer, yeah, but not as the one on the wrack but off it. It broke me, having destroyed that little kid. I made my choice.”

Sam forced his voice to come out calm. He fully planned on getting drunk off his ass that night. “Dean. Why are you telling me this?”

“I know what it’s like to be trapped with a monster Sam. Maybe not the way you know, but… To me, Michael is just another Alistair, ok? But this time _he’s in my head._ When I felt that pain again, I...”

 _You screamed,_ Sam thought with a shiver. _You never scream._

Dean scratched his arm, right where the Mark of Cain had once tormented him. “I broke once. I could do it again. Maybe I will eventually say yes just to make it stop, but that’s why I need to be taken far, far away. To a place where it won’t matter,” now ( _finally, too soon_ and _at last_ ) Dean dragged his teary eyes back to Sam’s. “Because I know that I could break the worlds spirit across my knee.”

“You’re not giving yourself enough credit.”

“Sam,” his brother sighed. “The world is at stake. I don’t think this is the time to stoke my ego.”

Sam wasn’t sure Dean had one of those. Was he a proud asshole? Absolutely. No one could preen like his brother. But Dean wasn’t egotistical. He knew his limits. He would only push them if backed into a corner.

And he didn’t think he was strong. Or smart. Or incredible.

 _Looks like I’ll have to be the reasonable one this time,_ Sam leaned over to lean his elbow on his knee. “I killed him.”

“What?”

“I killed him. Alistair,” he rotated his palm in the light. “I tore his... Black essence out of his vessel and I crushed it in my palm for having ever laid a hand on you. Just like I will kill Michael for what he did to you today,” Dean looked doubtful. Because he was an idiot. Sam smirked. “You remember when I finally dragged it out of you that you’d sold your soul to save me? What I said?”

“Dude, I try hard not to listen when you have your chick flick moments…”

“You’re my big brother,” Sam repeated hoarsely. “There is _nothing_ I wouldn’t do for you. And no matter what it takes, I’m gonna get you out of this.”

Dean’s mouth quirked sadly. “Yeah. I remember.”

“Now, I couldn’t save you from the pit or Alistair or Metatron, but I swear on our father’s soul, Dean, I _will_ save you from Michael.” He locked eyes with his brother and tried to... emanate his truthfulness, his determination, the unbending strength of his will. He hadn’t known how to save Dean then.

He was wiser now. They had more help and more powerful allies.

 _I hope you see me too, you bastard,_ he thought at Michael. _Because I’m coming for you._

“Sammy...” Dean started to rasp, pleading. Sam knew what he wanted to say, even if the words couldn’t physically escape Dean’s mouth. _Please don’t give me hope. Let me go. I’m scared_. _It’s my job to protect you._

“I’ve already decided. So shut up and get some rest,” Sam stood and shook out his fingers to loosen them. He had a lot of typing to do. Dean gawked at him, mouth opening and closing. Sam arched a brow.

Finally, Dean chuckled brokenly. “You know what I can’t believe? That someone like me raised someone like you.”

“I told you. You sell yourself short,” feeling his emotions start to flare up again because crap, Dean really _had_ raised him, Sam patted his pockets and cleared his throat. “Er, if you need anything...”

_There **is** still hope. I’ll never let you go. Its ok to be scared. What do you think my job is?_

Dean got the message. “I know. I know.”

“Sam? Dean?” The brothers both snapped up. Sam’s hand instinctively went to the gun in his back pocket, but it was just Jack. He’d somehow opened the door without a single creak. When he saw Dean, he grinned. “Oh, Dean, you’re awake. Are you ok? How do you feel?”

“I feel... I’m good, kid,” Dean tipped his head at the small phone in Jack’s hand. “Whose on the phone?”

“Oh. It’s Mary,” damn it. He’d forgotten about their mother. _In my defense,_ Sam thought guiltily. _This whole having a mom thing is kinda new for me. “_ She wanted to talk to you, Sam, but I think she’d like to hear Dean’s voice too.”

Sam waved Jack into the room and accepted the phone. He tapped it to speaker as Jack leant over Dean and proceeded to prod and poke at him worriedly. “Hey mom.”

Mary sounded flustered and more than a little irritated. “Sam, how’s your brother?!”

“He’s awake,” Sam reported, glancing at said sibling. Dean had successfully managed to free himself from Jack’s prodding and glared at him suspiciously while Jack smiled, apparently satisfied that Dean wasn’t dying anytime soon. “He can hear you.”

“Hi mom!” Dean called.

“Dean! Oh sweetheart, are you ok? I’m on my way right now. Are you letting Sam take care of you?” She demanded in a rush. Sam smirked.

“No! He’s being a horrible patient, mom!” He tattled.

“Man, shut up! I am not!” Dean hissed. He snatched the phone so he could whine into it directly. “Sam just gave me a whole wussy lecture on trust and shit, mom, and I didn’t interrupt more than _twice.”_ He gave Sam a triumphant look, as if their mom was _really_ going to believe that.

“You told me to shut up, like, eight times dude.”

“Can you even count? It was three.”

“Oh, for goodness sakes...” Mary groaned. “Jack, keep an eye on them until I get there please. They need to be supervised by an adult,” this time the brother’s sputtered together, wounded.

“We are adults!” Sam insisted, indignant.

“Jack is, like, two and half years old!” Dean agreed. Jack smiled at them sympathetically.

“Sure boys,” their mom sounded very much like she was agreeing just to shut them up. “Jack, I’ll be there in thirty. Make sure Dean drinks water and Sam gets some sleep.”

“I’m on it, Mary,” Jack promised. The expression he gave them was... A bit mischievous. “I’ll handle things until you get here.”


End file.
